Andromache and Helenus

Speaking my Greek again on the warmer days of spring.  We've had some warmth, we've had some cold.  Now we are busting through to the actual spring weather.  I'm hoping it remains warm for many more months to come.  Sleep is like death.  It is a little death of sorts.  We awaken renewed.  There is no true death, only rebirth.  They can plant me like a tree in hopes that I'll grow but I'm a mortal thing.  I am doomed to die.  There is no true death.  And yet, it exists.  Greenwood cemetery is just a thought away.  My parallel universe still holds these spaces for death.  Giant gas balls in space hold all of the elements of my blood and bone, a universal plasma.  Blood from star to cell.  Dark blood.  Deep blood.  Red blood.  And the blackest blood of the cosmic womb.  This must be why light bursting forth from the deep dark blood of the universe stunned us into love and worship.  Love and honor.  Light bursting forth in the form of nebulae and embryo.  Beating hearts.  Life driven against the struggle of the dark.  Light shining through strife.  These things I see in the face of the Green Man.  Images show him with tendrils crawling out of nostrils or mouth.  Leaves grow around his eyes and ears.  Leaves twine with his hair.  It could be the Green Man or the Green Woman.  I see the birth of cosmic corners in the busting open of leaves in spring.  It will come.  On one particular day, for no seeming reason, it all breaks loose and green is upon us.  This is the dance we see.  Life and death.  Rebirth.  Going back to Buddhist lessons.  Seeing my face on a Greek stage.  Through fire and light, the dance of spring begins.  How do they all come together to dance so readily?  It's as though the fairies were waiting inside spring the entire time.  Every thought, every mythology, every parallel universe, every story has been wrapped up in the season of spring.  It is time, as a woman, to escape my tomb of cement slabs and rolling metal.  It is time to crawl out of the basement.  Spring is up here.